


Hook Me Up

by suchfun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Future Fic, International Talk Like A Pirate Day, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, TFLN Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3687219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchfun/pseuds/suchfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek walks in—Derek, <i>Derek from last night</i>, Derek from this morning, <i>Derek</i>—walks in. He walks in, sees Stiles, and freezes.</p>
<p>Stiles blinks, staring, thinking maybe he's imagining things, but it's definitely Derek—he's even wearing same clothes, just with a confused scowl instead of a self-satisfied smirk. Also, a plastic pirate hook is gripped in his left hand, which is the worst non-attempt at a costume Stiles has ever seen. Ever. It's ridiculous.</p>
<p>Stiles swallows roughly. "If you'd had that last night, things might have gone in a totally different direction," he says inanely, nodding at the hook.</p>
<p>...it's possible that Stiles is fixating on the hook. Because if he doesn't, then he'll have to think about the fact that the one person he would ever want to impress in this world is seeing him in probably the stupidest items of clothing he's ever let touch his body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hook Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> My TFLN prompt was _(647): Please stop bringing your one night stands to Sunday brunch._ I messed with it a little, and I did the same to the date of Stiles' birthday.
> 
> This fic challenge came at just the right time. I'm in the middle of about four other longer fics rn but I have no idea what I'm doing with any of them, so actually finishing this was a remarkable feat. I also had an incredibly liberating experience involving free writing some sex scenes—none of which I included, because they are terrible, but the mere fact that I _wrote_ more than made up for it. The end result: self-indulgent fluff.
> 
> Thanks to Bek and Mary for the never-ending encouragement.

"I'm Derek," the guy says, partly into Stiles' ear, mostly into his neck. He follows the words with his tongue, sucking long and hot over Stiles' pulse and then trailing down again to scrape his stubble over Stiles' collarbones.

Stiles rocks against him. It feels _awesome_. The music that Jungle's DJ is spinning is loud and obnoxious enough to be reverberating through Stiles' chest even here, outside in the alley behind the club. And even though they're closer to the dumpster than Stiles would like, he also recognises the fact that Derek is a genius, because if they weren't mostly out of sight like this Derek would not have wedged Stiles against the wall so tightly, would not be pressing them together in a way that would be super uncomfortable if orgasms weren't imminent. And _then_ Stiles would not know that Derek's jeans are rough and tight, that his body is hard and warm, and that he feels really, _really_ good. "You feel really good, Derek," he reports. It's actually an understatement, but Stiles cannot be blamed for not being on his A game right now. He just can't.

"You too," Derek says, thrusting up a little. He lets out a loud breath, and a bunch of guys sharing a joint a few feet away move even closer, start to watch.

Stiles doesn't care. He turned thirty today. He can do what he wants. "I turned thirty today," he says. "I got a total of seven birthday messages. Two were from my dad." It's not exactly something to be proud of. Stiles has never had a big group of friends, has always consoled himself with platitudes like quality not quantity, but he's _thirty_ now. Surely more people should care.

"Happy b— happy birthday," Derek says.

"Thanks man," Stiles pulls back to grin at him, touched. Also drunk, probably. "I think I love you," he says.

Definitely drunk. The only time he ever loves people is when he's drunk. It's something his every ex has had an issue with, which is why he's thirty and alone and his family members are the only ones who care. Except they couldn't even spend time with him because it's Friday and everyone had other commitments because they're all dicks, and not even the good kind of dick, not even a dick that's rubbing against his own, not like _Derek's_ dick.

Derek blinks. "You can't love me yet," he instructs. "But if you want you can tell me your name."

Stiles thinks about this for a moment, then gets off Derek and grabs his hand, tugging him towards the parking lot. "Maybe later. In the meantime, you should take me back to my place."

The guys heckle them as they pass. Stiles sticks his hand down the back of Derek's pants.

 

"I want you to fuck me," Stiles says conversationally, in the passenger seat of Derek's car. Stiles himself took a cab to the club, because he was fully expecting to get drunk and go home with someone, because even though he's thirty he's still pretty hot (Scott says so, so it must be true. Scott wouldn't lie to him about something important like that). It's not the coolest car but it's probably very practical. Stiles had eyed the backseat when he first got in but Derek had nixed that idea.

"It's my sister's car," he'd said. "She'll kill me if I get come on anything."

"We could be very careful?" Stiles had said hopefully.

"I'd rather not waste time on being 'careful' with you," Derek had answered, which had made Stiles' mind up right away.

Now, is Derek sliding his hand up Stiles' thigh. Stiles is just glad the car isn't a stick.

"So, you'll fuck me, right?" he repeats.

"You're very blunt," Derek says mildly, squeezing tighter, fingertips digging into the seam of Stiles' pants.

"That sounds like something you'd say to me in an erotic novel," Stiles says. "No, it'd be like, 'Derek slid the blunt tip of his weeping manhood into Stiles' gaping chasm', orgasms, etcetera etcetera."

"Is Stiles your actual name or your erotic novel name?"

Stiles frowns. How does he always manage to destroy his own aura of mystery before he can even really establish it? How does he ever get anyone to sleep with him when he is on possession of such terrible game? "Shit, I was gonna make you work for it."

Derek smirks. It's super hot. Stiles just barely resists the urge to fan himself. "Oh," Derek says lowly, his hand finally high enough to rest directly over Stiles' dick, I can still do that."

And he does.

 

The icing on the cake: Stiles wakes up the next morning with a mouth on his dick. He stretches luxuriously in the sheets that are actually quite disgusting and not at all luxurious by now, but he doesn't care, just reaches down to scratch at Derek's scalp. Derek's pretty much his hero at this point—he made him come twice last night _and_ made him hydrate _and_ made him a sandwich, so not only is Stiles waking up with his dick in a mouth but he only has he barest of hangovers.

Derek is the best.

"You're the best," he mutters, and Derek pulls off his dick to reach up and pet his nipple. It's weird but also nice, so Stiles lets him have at it.

"I have to go soon," Derek says, hot breath gusting over Stiles' junk in the nicest way. "Gotta meet my cousin for a thing."

"Mmmkay," Stiles says absently, reaching down to nudge Derek back onto his dick. Orgasms first, responsibilities later. Derek starts licking again and Stiles sinks down into the bed, letting himself get completely caught up in sensation, hands curling around the pillow that Scott and Kira gav—

"Shit!" he curses, scrabbling at Derek, pushing him off in a way that would probably have been very painful if Derek hadn't been surprised into going with the movement. "What time is it?"

Derek frowns. "Nearly eleven. Somewhere to be?"

"Oh fuck, shit, yes actually, my bro is throwing me a birthday party, shit." Stiles scrambles off the bed, careening into his dresser but that's good, that's where he needs to be, he needs—clothes, yes, getting dressed, pants, pants are required for the outside world. "I'm supposed to be there, I was supposed to be there early to go and pick the snacks, now he won't buy any fucking chocolate because he hates it, fucking Scott, who hates chocolate, what a dick."

"You're... giving up a blowjob... for chocolate?" Derek seems very perplexed by this. Derek is very right to be.

Stiles pauses, halfway into a pair of boxers. "I know, I'm so dumb, I'm beyond dumb, and you're like super hot, even hotter this morning with the rumpled bedhead and the facial hair that can't decide between stubble and beard and the morning light filtering through the plantation blinds spectacularly over your bare, muscled chest..." He pauses for a moment, staring at said chest, before realising it's been silent for too long and forcing himself to look at Derek's face.

Thankfully, Derek doesn't seem upset or insulted. His eyebrows are trying really hard to meet in middle, but they're foiled by the creased skin between them and that's just really cute and not intimidating at all. However, he does ask, "'Morning light filtering spectacularly'?"

"Sorry man, I get flowery when I'm flustered and horny." Stiles shoves his legs into a pair of sweats and Derek leans back on his palms on the bed, now watching with what seems to be a mixture of amusement and appreciation. It's a bit confronting, because while Stiles is used to both of those reactions separately, he's never experienced them coming from someone at the same time, let alone someone as magnificent as Derek.

"Flustered and horny, does that happen often?

Stiles sighs. "More than it should, not gonna lie." He flings open his t-shirt drawer and grabs the first one he finds, then turns to Derek again. "Look, dude, I'm super sorry about all this. I honestly did wanna come in your mouth, I promise."

"Well, I was gonna let you come on my face actually," he says, casually pulling the covers back and getting up to stretch, like he isn't naked and the most beautiful person in existence and _naked_. "Your loss."

"Oh fuck you," Stiles groans, tearing his eyes away from Derek's shifting muscles—ugh they're like crack, he just keeps going right on back there, and somehow he's being expected to kick Derek cold turkey?! It's impossible and entirely preposterous. "I still need coffee and I have to pick up my costume and I have to buy candy and then I have to pretend to be happy I'm halfway to sixty and smile and try not to think about how I bailed on the best person who has ever been in my bed and oh my godddddd, how is this world is so unjust?"

"Stiles, it's okay," Derek says, already dressed somehow? Stiles doesn't remember him being that quick in taking _off_ his clothes, in fact Stiles remembers lots of teasing and slow stripping and Stiles thinks that is a fact which must be rectified ASAP. Maybe tonight. If Derek's maybe saying what Stiles thinks he is? "I understand. This wasn't a limited time only deal. We can just do it again."

Aaaaaand they're on the same page. Stiles locks eyes with him. "That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard," he says, meaning it with all his heart. And even though Derek rolls his eyes he must get it, because he not only leaves Stiles his number, but he gives him a long, intense, deep kiss before he allows either of them to set one foot outside the front door.

 

Stiles shows up at Scott's one hour and a half late. He does not get the fanfare he was expecting when he finally arrives. No one meets him at the door, no one jumps out and screams happy birthday, there's just... nothing.

"Yo Scotty," he calls, pushing inside the house, hefting the bags of candy in, careful not to let any of his costume catch in the doorway. "The guest of honour has arrived!"

"About time man," Scott calls, his voice getting closer as he approaches from the kitchen. "Where have you—" He turns the corner, sees Stiles, and stops dead. Stops decomposing, even. At least, the look on his face seems like he's witnessing something of the sort, his eyes wide, and his mouth drawn up in horror. "What the _hell_ , Stiles?" he squeaks.

Stiles blinks. "Uh... happy birthday to me?" He wiggles the bags around, but that's just a guess because he actually has no idea what Scott's talking about.

Scott doesn't react to the bags. "What are you _wearing_?" he screeches instead, eyes locked on Stiles' torso.

Stiles instinctively looks down too, even though he knows what's there. It's a pretty standard fairy costume, he thinks: pink and glitter, wings, tutu, corset, leggings. No heels because he had to draw the line somewhere, and no make up because even though he watched one of Erica's YouTube tutorials he still ended up looking like a diseased raccoon, but more than enough body glitter to make up for any of that. He got a few looks walking from his car to Scott's door, and he can't help but feel proud of the final product.

What can he say, he's pretty competitive with himself. Last year he was a stripper cop in gold booty shorts, and this was the best thing he could come up with to outdo himself.

Scott, though, just rubs his eyes, suddenly looking very tired. "Stiles," he says, very slowly. "What day is it?"

"The day after my birthday?" Stiles grins winningly, throws in some jazz hands, but he's still holding the bags so it doesn't work out. He puts the bags down.

"Yes." Scott rolls his eyes, but otherwise seems like he's trying to very hard to stay calm. "And do you remember one of the reasons why we decided to hold your party today instead of yesterday?"

Stiles pouts. "Everyone was busy yesterday."

Scott glares, offended. "Fuck you dude, Kira and I would've rescheduled with her parents and you know it. No, there was actually a very special reason we decided to hold it today, do you remember what that was?" Scott looks at him, very pointedly, before looking back down at his own—admittedly pretty awesome—pirate costume, gesturing very specifically to his eye patch, mostly-unbuttoned blouse, belt and attached plastic scabbard, and knee-high leather bolts.

Stiles watches his hands, not getting his point for a few moments, until finally— "Oh shit," he breathes, the realisation dawning on him suddenly.

Scott sighs. "Yeah." He backs down the hall, leading Stiles to the living room and narrowly avoiding tripping over the terrible hall table Kira made that time she thought she'd be great at woodwork, and then the horrible vase that followed when pottery was next, but that Scott still displays lovingly anyway.

"Today wasn't a generic dress up theme," Stiles continues, leaving the bags where they are, numbly following behind. 

"No, it was wasn't," Scott says.

"It was—"

Scott finally shuffles into the living room. As soon as Stiles steps in too, all his friends jump into his line of vision and start to scream things, things that sound like they might be "happy birthday!" and "happy Talk Like A Pirate Day!".

But in reality not many of them get much further than "happy—" before they clock his costume and trail off into an awkward silence.

Stiles surveys the room, full of his friends. His friends who are all dressed like pirates. Because of course they are. Because it's Stiles' birthday party, and Stiles' birthday is only a day before Talk Like A Pirate Day, and months ago Scott and Stiles had thought it would be awesome to have a pirate-themed birthday party.

On the one hand, Stiles wants to thank his bro for doing an amazing job, because the living room looks amazing. There's a giant skull and crossbones flag poster hung up on one wall, in place of the really scary professional portrait Scott and Kira had taken when they got married, and on the opposite wall are a really complex set of decals depicting waves and a pirate ship. There's skull and crossbones paper plates, cups and party hats, not to mention a piñata hanging from the ceiling, and there, on the coffee table, is the most amazing 3D pirate ship cake Stiles has ever seen.

On the other hand, Scott and Kira and Erica and Boyd and Danny and Lydia and Allison and even Isaac all look amazing in their pirate-iest costumes, and Stiles left a trail of glitter down Scott's hall because his wings are malting.

Stiles clears his throat. "Here is how this will work," he says steadily, doing his best to ignore Erica, who he can see from the corner of his eye is already desperately holding back wracks of laughter, "Imma go put away the food I brought. I will take approximately twenty minutes. You will get all your laughing out of the way. And then I will get my cake, and I will eat it _all_."

He turns on his heel, and hears the click of at least three phone camera shutters before he's even left the room.

 

"Well, that's not as bad as Allison warned me it would be," Malia says from behind him ten minutes later. She's even later than he is to his party but Stiles doesn't care, Stiles loves her, she's so great, trust Malia to be the one not to judge his costume! Stiles turns from where he'd been scrubbing at the glitter on his face over the kitchen sink, smiling at her gratefully, and she immediately cringes, rearing back in the doorway. "Nope, there it is."

Stiles slumps. He wishes he could fire a disparaging comment at her about her costume but he can't do that, because Malia has gone all out and she looks amazing. She even has a little plush parrot attached to her shoulder, which is an awesome touch, although part of that might just be that Stiles is very relieved she didn't follow through on her original plan to use a real bird. She'd asked Scott to borrow one from Deaton, and when he'd refused she'd got a scary look and murmured something about knowing where the best birds hang out in the preserve. Malia's always had a slightly wild edge to her, and Stiles has never been sure whether she's joking or not.

"Maliiiiia," he whines. "C'mon, it's my _birthday_."

"Technically, it's not, it's Talk Like A—"

"Yes well I remember that _now_."

Malia backs up a bit, hands up in surrender, and they stand there in silence for a few moments.

"Hey, I brought my cousin, hope that's cool," she says, like the thought has just occurred to her. She peers into the hall, grabbing someone and hauling them into the room. "This is Derek."

Derek walks in—Derek, _Derek from last night_ , Derek from this morning, _Derek_ —walks in. He walks in, sees Stiles, and freezes.

Stiles blinks, staring, thinking maybe he's imagining things, but it's definitely Derek—he's even wearing same clothes, just with a confused scowl instead of a self-satisfied smirk. Also, a plastic pirate hook gripped in his left hand, which is the worst non-attempt at a costume Stiles has ever seen. Ever. It's ridiculous.

Stiles swallows roughly. "If you'd had that last night, things might have gone in a totally different direction," he says inanely, nodding at the hook.

...it's possible that Stiles is fixating on the hook. Because if he doesn't, then he'll have to think about the fact that the one person he would ever want to impress in this world is seeing him in probably the stupidest items of clothing he's ever let touch his body.

Derek's frown deepens. He rightly ignores Stiles' hook comment. "How do you know Malia?"

"She's..." Stiles darts a glance at Malia, whose eyebrows are pretty much mirroring Derek's now, shit, how did he not realise they were related. "Malia's my ex. We dated a few years ago."

"And how do you know Derek, Stiles?" Malia asks slyly, catching on, glancing between them.

"He's—" Stiles cuts himself off, looking to Derek just in case, but he doesn't give Stiles any indication that he wants to keep anything secret. "He's my one night stand."

"You brought your one night stand to your birthday party?" Lydia appears in the doorway, sounding super judgemental in that special way that only Lydia can.

"No, _Malia_ brought my one night stand to my party," Stiles correct her.

"That's rather awkward," Lydia says, sounding unfairly delighted. She's always enjoyed Stiles' discomfort much more than she should.

Malia pulls a face. "He's my _cousin_!"

Stiles suddenly remembers that morning, when Derek had mentioned needing to leave, and whirls to face Derek. "Wait, _Malia's_ the cousin?"

"You mentioned me?" Malia asks Derek, sounding flattered.

"Not—" Derek starts, and then _they_ start bickering, but Stiles doesn't hear it. He's distracted by Erica, standing behind Derek in the hall, balancing the cake in one hand and filming everything on her phone with the other.

"Erica, seriously?"

She grins widely. "Hey man, I've got a vlog channel now, gotta entertain the masses. This shit is gold!" she says, waving the phone around, at the exact same time that Isaac tries to slip past her with a huge bowl of meat in each hand.

Isaac wobbles. Erica's hand glances off Isaac's arm. It unbalances her. She startles, reaching out for something to steady herself.

The pirate ship cake slides right off the plate and crashes into a mushy pile on the tiled floor.

Everyone goes comically quiet.

"Uhhhh… sorry?" Erica offers up sheepishly, still clutching onto the empty plate.

"Happy birthday to you," Isaac says gleefully, sniggering.

 

"Dude, this actually tastes pretty good," Scott says. He leans over to pick the honeycomb anchor off one of the less squished parts of the cake before settling back down on the floor. Stiles, sitting cross legged opposite him, the remnants of the cake between them, just grunts. What does it matter, anyway? His birthday is ruined. His sex life is ruined. Everything is ruined. And everyone is terrible. 

All of them except Scott escaped outside as quickly as possible, where Allison is operating the grill with scary intensity, to avoid any potential Stiles-centric meltdown. And now they're having their own awesome party without Stiles, drinking and having fun and laughing—at Stiles, probably. They're all traitors.

And yeah okay, any other time and he'd probably be laughing at himself too, but... _Derek_

He groans.

Scott sighs. "You're being stupid, man. You like Derek, right? And he must like you too because even after everything that's happened he still hasn't left, which means he's still interested, which means you need to stop sulking and go and talk to him!" Scott crunches into the honeycomb. "Since when do you get embarrassed anyway, you have no shame."

"Hey, I have shame!" Stiles protests. "That is an incredibly baseless and hurtful accusation!"

Scott looks unconvinced. "Stiles, you're eating cake off the floor."

"So are you!" Stiles carefully peels a layer of sponge off the top and shakes it at Scott before shoving it in his mouth. "Besides, these bits didn't even touch the floor, it's perfectly good cake."

"You're both disgusting," Lydia says on her way past them to the bathroom, stepping around them carefully.

Stiles pauses mid-chew. He looks at Scott, whose cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk. Scott looks back. They both shrug.

Malia pauses in following Lydia, eyes the cake, then says, "Give me that section with all the cream."

Stiles uses his spoon to scoop it up and leans up to feed it to her, taking care that the spoon doesn't clink against her teeth. She swallows and wipes her mouth with her hand, and then, suddenly, she strikes—before he knows it, she's grabbed his neck and lowered his head down to the cake, letting his face hover right above it.

It's scary as shit, it always is, even though Malia manhandles him all the time and he knows she'll never really hurt him.

"Now," she says, "go and talk to Derek or I will follow through and you will die of cake inhalation."

At least, she probably wouldn't have hurt him before Derek was in their picture. For a moment, Stiles actually gets distracted by the idea, wondering if anyone's ever died because of a cake. Surely someone has, probably someone in the mafia, or maybe someone on _Bones_?

"Stiles, focus!" Malia snaps her fingers loudly in his face. She lets go of his skull after shaking it one last time, this time so close to the cake his nose gets dipped in it, then stands up, towering over them menacingly. "If you screw this up like you did with me there'll be consequences, okay?"

Stiles gapes. She rolls her eyes and walks away. "Excuuuuuuuuse me, I did not screw anything up with you, we were doomed from the start!" he yells after her, but she just flips him the bird and disappears around the corner.

"You could say the same about you and Derek too," Scott points out. There's his best bro, always so helpful.

"Thanks buddy," Stiles says sarcastically, reaching over to give Scott a particularly vicious nipple twist. "No, it feels different with Derek, like... Not like I wanna marry him tomorrow, but there's like... possibility there, like tangible promise. Like prospects and hopes and dreams..."

Scott shakes his head, still rubbing his nipple. "You get way too dramatic when you're horny and flustered, man."

 

Stiles finds Derek in the dining room. Scott and Kira hardly ever use it, but it's something Kira's mom insisted they have, so they keep it formal and super tidy. The dining table and chairs are kept under a drop cloth, because it's some kind of special set from like the 1800s or something, and the only other thing in the room is a line of photos across the far wall, old black and white framed originals at one end and polaroids tacked artfully at the other, a mish mash of everything else in the middle. Derek is standing in front of one of Stiles and his dad. It's a selfie, taken when Stiles turned twenty one and his dad took him on a road trip to Las Vegas. Stiles can't remember exactly where it was taken, but they're both sunburnt and grinning and it's one of Stiles' favourite pictures in the world, and he'd texted it to everyone he knew as soon as he'd finished taking it.

"That's my dad," Stiles says. Derek doesn't jump, doesn't even look at him, just keeps looking at the photo. "He's the sheriff. He's been working, but he's got the whole day off tomorrow and he's taking me to lunch."

Derek nods. "You're an idiot," he says finally, turning to Stiles. Stiles thinks about being offended but it doesn't really sound like an insult, and Derek's face is soft when he turns to him and continues, "You were whining about no one caring about your birthday when actually it will have been a three day extravaganza. That's like a festival Stiles, that's like... Even Jesus doesn't get that kind of celebration."

Stiles shrugs. "What can I say, I'm more loveable than even I think I am."

"That's one word for it," Derek says dryly.

Stiles chooses not to pursue that. That way madness lies. Instead, feeling brave, he shoves his hands in his pockets and carefully moves further into the room. He stops a few feet away still, unsure of where they stand now. Maybe Derek doesn't like guys who really commit to glitter.

"So…" he says, considering just leaving it there, but then Derek is looking at him and waiting expectantly and Stiles can't stop there, he _has_ to know. "Think you can handle sleeping with someone who can pull off a tutu with such incredible aplomb?"

"I'm not freaked out by your costume, Stiles. Sparkles and tulle are pretty pedestrian," Derek says. Which is good to know, actually. "I once dated someone who liked wearing a slashed up face mask."

Stiles tries not to look as creeped out as he feels. "To _bed_?"

"No comment," Derek says, but he looks pretty shifty.

"Well I could do that for you, if you want," Stiles offers. He's mostly joking. Except if it meant Derek sticking around then he totally would. "It's only a month till Halloween."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "You really do invite your one night stands to everything, don't you?"

Stiles shrugs and tries to seem sincere, yet casual, yet really fucking into Derek, yet not desperate (it's a super fine line) when he says, "No, just you." Derek simply _looks_ at him, eyes wide and shiny, and Stiles rushes to add, "Besides, by then I'm hoping you'll be at least my ten night stand. Or maybe even twenty night stand?"

"Stiles," Derek says exasperatedly, but exasperated is good. Exasperation comes from a place of fondness, in Stiles' experience, and the way Derek's mouth is tilted up just slightly in the corners definitely seems to confirm that analysis.

"Okay, twenty two?" Stiles suggests. He moves closer to Derek, puts a tentative hand on his waist, and feels only relief, so much relief, when Derek pulls him closer into a very loose face-to-face hug. "Twenty two at least, come on man, it's a whole _month_ , that's forever, you can't hold out on me the whole time, right? I mean I guess you could but that would be shooting us both in the foot. Feet. Unless you like that kinda thing."

"Shooting or feet?" Derek asks, smirking.

Stiles grins back. "Oh yeah. We're gonna get along just fine."

**Author's Note:**

> The costume thing actually happened to me—only I was eight, and I went to my cousin's party as a grubby pirate while all the other little girls were in their most fetching fairy finery. Thankfully, I also have little shame, so I came away with my dignity still mostly intact.
> 
> The cake incident comes from [this](https://youtu.be/8rN7BZn8rtY?t=1m39s).
> 
> Tyler Hoechlin in Oz countdown: just under a week. Somebody hold me.


End file.
